Shining Moments
by jinjyaa
Summary: One-shot OC side stories. The marriage ball of everyone's parents. Teodor von Trondheim's road to redemption after his treason in The Trouble with Trolls.
1. The Courtship of Gwendal's Father

**Kyou Kara Maou – Shining Moments**

Summary: One-shot series. First up, the notorious marriage ball that betrothed Gwendal's, Adelbert's, and Manfred's parents, thus including Wolfram's mother and grandfather.

Disclaimer: I have no rights to _Kyou Kara Maou_ of course.

Note: This series is part of my _Bedding of Wolfram / Epilogue_ universe. The series works a whole lot better if you read the stories in order. Though this chapter is set way in the past, it's best read after _Trolls_. Though maybe the summary would be enough.

Supporting materials on the "homepage" link on my author profile include story summaries, illustrations, portraits, and character bios. The character bios are almost done, and I've added new illustrations since _Ghosts_.

**Chapter 1 – The Courtship of Gwendal's Father**

_**Setting:**__ 175 years before Yuuri arrived in Shin Makoku, at the von Bielenfeld royal pier._

_Sixty years before, the Great War with Trondheim devastated Shin Makoku. Friedrich Lord Bielenfeld is the ranking surviving relative of the marriageable young Aristocrats of several domains, including his own. Rather preferring dentist visits to matchmaking, Friedrich stalled, to no avail – no one else held a marriage ball. So, eager to marry off his young half-sisters Phoebe and Sophie, he finally threw a ball himself…_

-oOo-

Hugh Lord Walde, the celebrated General of all Shin Makoku, victor of the Great War, arrived at Bielenfeld late on a splendid spring morning. The broad Donza River, superhighway of the kingdom, sparkled under a pure azure sky. The fresh breeze flapped pennants and sang in the rigging of his fast cutter, as the crew secured the boat to the royal pier, gaily bedecked with flowers and streamers, to welcome guests to the Aristocrat marriage ball extravaganza. Hugh himself, tall dark and handsome, ruler of wealthy Walde, hero to the nation, a widower in his prime, was the grand prize aspiration for many a young hopeful to the ball. Romance was in the air.

"Hugh looks _terrified_," observed the host, Friedrich Lord Bielenfeld, with an evil green-eyed demon smile. "You boys be nice…"

"We're always nice," chorused Friedrich's son Aldrich and his sidekick Franklin, standing beside him. They were in no danger of betrothal themselves. At 60, they were physically and emotionally much like human 15-year-olds, though with far broader experience and education – and both were far from human. The boys were the organizers of tonight's ball, eager to _'get rid of Phoebe and Sophie'_, Bielenfeld's lady entrants to tonight's meat market. They broke into their theme song for the event, "_Ding-dong, the witch is gone, the wicked witch, the witch is gone –"_

Franklin coughed to cover a laugh. "Remember, you're trying to _market _Phoebe and Sophie." He strode forward beaming. "Hugh! Good to see you! No, no escaping back downriver – you're pushing 250, and no heir yet for Walde! Tonight's the night. You remember my wife's nephew Franklin von Trondheim, and my son Aldrich?"

Tall, dark, and sad sack, Hugh's face fell even further, and he gulped. "Yes, of course. Lord Franklin, I admired your grandfather the Warlord deeply."

_And showed your admiration by__** executing**__ him, you son of a – !_

Before Franklin could reply to this… _unfortunate_ choice of conversation opener, Aldrich intercepted the General's gaffe with a bow and a smile. "We're told our grandfather von Trondheim thought highly of _you_ as well, General. Is that your social resumé?" The genial young blond plucked the document from Hugh's shaky grasp, and handed it off to Franklin, to go add to the resumé binder and cool his head. "And who will be acting as your marriage broker, Sir?"

"My – oh," said Hugh, at a loss. He'd forgotten these negotiations went through an intermediary. He hadn't planned to come to the marriage ball. The Maou had sent him, saying it was _Shinou's_ _will_ that he seek a bride here. Which he found far from reassuring.

"Excuse me, Hugh," said Friedrich, "I see my great-niece and -nephew von Spitzweg are arriving. Aldrich will take good care of you."

Which left Hugh alone with a smiling Aldrich von Bielenfeld. Whose grandfather he'd executed during the Great War. _Maybe I shouldn't have brought that up…_

"Don't worry, General, _we'll_ act as your brokers," Aldrich assured him. "May I renew your acquaintance with my maiden aunts?"

Aldrich drew Hugh toward a group of women by the arriving ferry. There were indeed several modest and comely matrons, of the seemingly endless demon middle-age. No doubt old Friedrich's half-sisters were among them. He hazarded a smile at several well-padded and comfortable looking ladies. But Aldrich continued past them, to two willowy young blondes, just half Hugh's age.

The girls' eyes were glued to the top of the gangway, where their slightly older great-niece Cecilie von Spitzweg made a grand entrance, waving and blowing kisses, showing off her dress and jewelry, cleavage and legs.

"Sofeeble –" Aldrich said, to catch their attention.

"Aldrich, you screw-up," Phoebe returned his greeting, without a glance backward, "why'd you invite the _cow?_"

"With boobs that big, I wonder how big the nipples are?" mused Sophie.

"- _General Hugh Lord Walde,_" Aldrich continued, "please allow me to present my father's half-sisters, Sophie and Phoebe von Bielenfeld."

The chagrined Phoebe and Sophie slowly turned. Phoebe, crimson, glared at Aldrich. Sophie, only slightly pink, curtseyed graciously, then rose straight and tall, with a smile. "So good to see you again, General. Welcome to our home."

Thus cued, Phoebe gave an awkward curtsey as well,. "Yes, welcome," she muttered.

And she couldn't think of anything else to say. She swallowed and shot an anxious glance at the gangway, where that idiot Stoeffel, looking like a frilled yellow canary in his von Spitzweg finery, was mimicking his sister's entrance. _The old General and Stoeffel were my top ranking two hopes! Damn, damn, damn!_

"Your aunts," Hugh echoed. He attempted another social gambit. "Ladies, I took you for young Aldrich's sisters." He smiled. And waited, the smile getting a bit strained.

Aldrich and Sophie waited, to give Phoebe as long as possible to regain her voice and take her shot at marrying the head of a domain.

Sophie gave up on Phoebe's wits first. "Oh, don't worry about_ that,_ General. It's because our brother Friedrich is so old – our family confuses _everybody_. And it's true, we were all raised as brothers and sisters – myself, then my sister Phoebe, then Friedrich's grandson Wolfred the heir, who serves you in the army, then our nephew Aldrich, the baby of the family." She smiled fondly at Aldrich, who smiled back with equal insincerity.

"Did Wolfred come with you?" Phoebe piped up at last. "Lord Hugh?"

"No," replied Hugh. "He left HQ a week ago. Is he missing?"

"He said he had an errand to run on the way home," said Aldrich. "No doubt he'll show up at the last minute and make a grand entrance."

Hugh smiled and nodded. "Hopefully not in a ball gown, ha ha."

The girls stared at him. _Wolfred wouldn't dare – ! _But unfortunately, that was just the sort of thing Wolfred _would_ do…

As Hugh's face fell to new lows, Friedrich rejoined them, with Stoeffel von Spitzweg and his friend Raven.

"Aldrich, our social resumés," said Stoeffel, airily slapping them at Aldrich as though to a servant. "I prefer blondes. I'd thought Kattrin Abercrombie, but she's too fat."

Aldrich retorted, "Yes, I'll be sure to tell the kitchens you prefer lean, m'lord."

"First warning, Aldrich," murmured Friedrich.

"Oh, hello, hello!" boomed Cecilie, coming up with the voluptuous Kattrin. Having already kissed Friedrich, she fell bosom to bosom first on the very alarmed Hugh von Walde, then gathered Aldrich to her breast for a smooch. "Oh, cousin Aldrich! You've grown into quite the little hunk, haven't you? That dimple and those pretty-pretty elfin eyes – I bet you have all the boys chasing you!"

"_Girls_," growled Phoebe. She was determined not to let _Wolfred_ rub off on Aldrich, no matter how cute he was.

"Hi, Phoebe!" returned Kattrin, mistaking this for a greeting. "Let's go in and join the ladies' party, shall we? We look forward to seeing you men again later at the ball, in your _dashing_ finery!" And their smiling elder cousin from Wincott herded the ladies toward the castle. Sophie glanced back imploringly at Aldrich. He rolled his eyes and nodded. _If I see Adeldan von Gratz, I'll put in a good word for you…_

"Lovely," said Hugh, staring after the girls, starstruck.

"My sister?" asked the elderly Friedrich and young Stoeffel.

Hugh cleared his throat and nodded. "Yes, your sisters are lovely."

Seeing a lull in arrivals – and thus a chance to escape to the older men – Friedrich led his guests toward the gentlemen's reception in the garden, leaving the pier to Aldrich and Franklin.

Hugh Lord Walde followed, head in the clouds. Her long blonde waves of hair, captivating wide green eyes, ample bosom, kindly smile… He hadn't wanted to come. He though it shameful for an old childless widower like himself to seek a bride at a marriage ball, like a young buck on the prowl. But Maou and Shinou had insisted. And now, Hugh was glad they had! For even this brief meeting had quickened his step, lifted his heart. Such grace and poise. It was love at first sight! If only the young beauty would take him, and be his bride – to become the Lady _Kattrin_ von Walde!

-oOo-

Aldrich tossed the Spitzweg resumés to Franklin. "Two more for the crap list."

"It's getting crowded. I already added Grandfather's executioner," replied Franklin. "Hope you don't mind."

"Ab-so-lu-te-lay," breathed Aldrich, with a charming crooked green smile. "Hey, what's that _barge_ doing, tying up to the _royal_ pier? _Hey, you! _You can't park there!"

"But _I_ can, beautiful!" Wolfred called back from the barge, blowing him a kiss. "Because I'm the _heir_. And you're the _spare_!" Wolfred leapt off the boat and helped down a woman and baby. He sent these ahead to the castle, while he swooped on Aldrich for a hug and kiss on the mouth.

The gorgeous young man was a few inches taller, but the spitting image of his grandfather Friedrich, in turn twin to the most celebrated beauty of the millenium, Emeraude von Bielenfeld, from whom the many gorgeous Wincott and Spitzweg green-eyed blonds were descended, and thus landed on poor Friedrich's marry-off to-do list. But the resemblance ended at looks – the sardonic and powerful healer Lord Friedrich, and the glitteringly dangerous killer Wolfred, were opposites in personality. At the moment, Wolfred's foppishly beruffled Bielenfeld dress uniform was badly travel-stained.

Wolfred held Aldrich's face in his hands, and rubbed noses. "Oh, sweetie, did you _miss_ me?"

"You're late. For your own marriage ball," replied Aldrich sourly.

"Not to worry, pretty pet! I'm here, aren't I?"

"What's with the woman and the baby?"

"Shh…" Wolfred put a hushing finger between his lips and Aldrich's, then kissed it playfully. "All will be revealed, in due time._ But!_ First, I need a bath if I'm going to out_shine_ the rest of the girls tonight!" He let go of Aldrich and flipped Franklin's hair onto his forehead. A militant line of cowlicks flopped it right back where it belonged. "Hi, Franklin. That outfit's such a butch look on you, and your shoulders… _GRRRowl!_" He winked at Franklin's customary grimace. "See you two in a twinkle, when I'm pretty!" Wolfred pranced on up to the castle, Aldrich staring after him, lips pursed.

"Rick, you're acting like a jilted lover," commented Franklin. "It's really disturbing."

Aldrich blew him a kiss. "Jealous, Lin? Oh, honey, I didn't know you _cared_!"

Franklin just shook his head in disgust.

-oOo-

"Wolfred, so glad you could make it," said Friedrich sarcastically, entering his grandson's room. Friedrich had raised him from infancy, so the relationship was nearer father and son. "Now get your butt down to the gentlemen's reception. What did you drag me up here for?"

"I have someone for you to meet, Grandfather," said Wolfred, oddly subdued. Friedrich's eyes widened as Wolfred walked over to a – _baby basket?!?_ – in the corner. "My son," Wolfred said simply, staring down at the newborn. "I call him Wolfren."

Friedrich walked over slowly and touched the child. Sure enough, he bore the fire healer maryoku, unique to the few direct male-to-male descendants of their line. He looked like Friedrich's lost son Wolfgang as a baby, Wolfred's father, right down to the… _soul._ _Wolfgang's reincarnation. _ Of course he didn't speak this aloud. That was for the child to find out for himself, someday. Friedrich swallowed. "How."

"We needn't go into that," said Wolfred. "Just, please, Grandfather – does he have a Bielenfeld soul? Can my son can be my heir?"

"We _do_ need to _'go into that',_ if you want to legitimate this child as an heir to Bielenfeld. You forget yourself, Lord Wolfred. Explain."

"We have to keep it secret," pleaded Wolfred, not meeting Friedrich's eye. "For Aldrich's sake, as well as my son's. Promise me, Grandfather. I'll tell them myself when they make their centuries. But no one can tell them before then. Wolfren… is a nymph descendant, from Garena." _A son is a descendant…_

"You hardly need to keep nymph descent secret from _me,"_ countered Friedrich. Like his secret brother Garena, he was half-nymph "So who's the mother?"

"She doesn't want to –"

_"_You're pissing me off, Wolfred."

"I… _I_ am, I'm the mother. You see… why we can't tell anyone?"

"_Oy!_" agreed Friedrich.

The two men stared down at the perfect sleeping baby for a few moments in silence. Wolfred suggested softly, "Phoebe's been away for the past half year…"

"Are you quite insane?"

-oOo-

Young Aldrich learned a great deal about throwing a ball that day. For instance, ladies don't need to compare notes before the dance.

"So _many _ruling Lords and heirs up for grabs tonight!" a noblewoman from Shin Makoku proper observed. "Adeldan von Gratz, Julius von Wincott, Hugh von Walde, Stoeffel von Spitzweg…"

"And Wolfred von Bielenfeld," inserted Phoebe.

"Well, yes…" The lady from Khrennikov looked disparagingly at Phoebe's pants, then turned back to her friend. "And Lord Krist is here, too! Did you hear? He divorced his first wife because she was _frigid!_"

"Well, he would say that. But Felicia says Anna says he was a complete pervert!"

"Really, what kind of pervert?" inquired Cecilie, interested.

"I'm not sure we should speak like this about –" attempted Kattrin.

"Whyever not? If one of us is going to marry him, we have a right to know!" insisted a noblewoman from Spitzweg.

"Quite the icebreaker, isn't it?" said Cecilie. "I think I shall ask him when we dance tonight."

Amidst the tittering, several women shot her calculating glances, unsure whether this was a trap or a good suggestion. Several others looked disheartened at her confidence of a dance with Lord Krist. They might get a dance with one or two of the high Lords. No doubt _Cecilie_ would dance with _each _of them. It was _so_ unfair.

Phoebe – actually quite a talented industrialist – asked, "Is this something we can just ask men while we're dancing? Their sexual preferences?"

"Ah –" an involuntary noise of dismay escaped kind Kattrin, who had no idea how to save Phoebe from what she'd just said. Most of the room turned to stare at the hapless young lady, and started to laugh cruelly.

Cecilie put her arm around Phoebe and laughed _with_ her, instead of _at_ her. "Well, it's a_ tricky_ bit of flirting, Phoebe. You might do better just being your own candid self."

This was actually quite a good save, which Phoebe was too ingenuous to appreciate. She thought Cecilie was making fun of her worst of all. Her face started to flush.

"Well, at least we don't need to ask about _Wolfred's_ desires," said one of the more vicious ones, eyeing Phoebe. "Lord Krist's frigid lady should marry _him!_"

"So Cecilie, what's your gown like for tonight?" hazarded Sophie loudly.

"Wolfred is heir to the greatest domain of Shin Makoku!" defended Phoebe.

"Yes, Cecilie, you always have the loveliest gowns," buttressed Kattrin.

"A marriage with Wolfred would be a complete sham," said the woman from Khrennikov. "Finding his catamites in the bedroom closet!"

"Oh, I'm sure both of your dresses will be just as lovely," said Cecilie, though the three could hardly have more different tastes – Kattrin favored angelic tiers of lace, Sophie a long line of elegance, and Cecilie a racy ravish-me-now challenge.

"_How dare you!_" yelled Phoebe.

"Speaking of which, we'll need to dress soon, and it's such a lovely day outside," said Cecilie. "Let's go for a walk. Anyone care to join me?"

"_But she – !_"

"Walk away, Phoebe," whispered Sophie in her ear.

"What a wonderful idea!" cried Kattrin, gratefully. And she and Cecilie and Sophie herded all the ladies out for a walk, while Phoebe stomped off alone upstairs to the family's private apartments. She might have had a good cry, except that she heard a baby crying first, and went to investigate.

"And who do you favor, Kattrin? Sophie? Cecilie?" asked a noblewoman from Walde, as the gaggle headed outside. The lesser nobility were keenly interested, confident these top-ranked blondes would get their picks, and the rest would compete for leftover perverts like Lord Wolfred and Lord Krist, and the second tier nobles.

"Well…" demurred Kattrin. _Julius von Wincott_, she didn't admit.

"Hmm…" said Sophie. _Adeldan von Gratz or death._

Cecilie smiled coyly. "My mind is wide open. Though I must say, Castle Bielenfeld is _lovely!"_

The gaggle of noblewomen wandered back to the pier. Aldrich didn't catch why half of them fell into the river, nor why Sophie, Kattrin, and Cecilie – perfectly dry, and seeming to enjoy a pleasant conversation - ignored the floundering women.

-oOo-

Friedrich tried to enjoy some time hiding in the box-hedge maze with his older cronies, but he was preoccupied by Wolfred's proposal. And his pile of _'little notes'_ regarding his marriage brokerees was getting rather tall. He sighed and pulled a chair aside, to triage the notes and start deciding priority dance assignments. Death threats from sister Sophie, petulant specifications from Stoeffel, Kattrin's sweet confidences, Cecilie's doubts about leaving her brother, inquiries from a number of men after the girls or Wolfred, bids for the fabulously wealthy Wolfred from every second-tier lady in attendance… And mistakenly fallen in among these, a letter from Ulrike, Shinou's high priestess. Friedrich opened it in alarm.

_…Shinou's will… the next Maou shall be the lady Hugh Lord Walde marries…_

"What the - ?" Friedrich exclaimed, attracting raised eyebrows among his sedate friends. "Ah, the crazy whims of youth, ha-ha," he excused his outburst. "Hugh, may I speak with you in private?"

He led Hugh into the castle, to give himself a moment to consider. Why in Shinou's name would Ulrike tell _him_ that, instead of Hugh? "So, Hugh, have you set your heart on anyone in particular?"

"Well," said Hugh bashfully, "your sister Sophie seems highly intelligent, and Cecilie's spirited, but," he gulped, "Kattrin Abercrombie… Would she, do you think, might Kattrin…?"

"I see…" said Friedrich. "Anyone else? No. Let me ask you, Hugh – have you ever considered who might be named the next Maou? No. Well, thank you for your candor, and I'll be sure to get you a dance with young Kattrin. Actually, all three of them? If that's alright?"

"Oh, thank you! Thank you, Friedrich!" said Hugh, innocently sure that his friend Friedrich would have told him, had Kattrin's affections been claimed elsewhere.

And Friedrich retired to his office to work on matchmaking, no longer in bemusement, but deathly earnest. Without a trace of sentimentality, it was Friedrich's sincere opinion that of those three women, the only one even remotely fit to be Maou, was his strong-willed and elegant half-sister Sophie. Unfortunately, he was equally sure that a marriage between Sophie and the fumble-tongued Hugh would be a cold and lonely one.

-oOo-

The family apartments in Castle Bielenfeld felt like a morgue when Aldrich and Franklin came to dress for the ball. They peeked in on Sophie and Phoebe, wondering where the usual juggernaut of chatter had gone, and saw each alone in her room, dressing herself to the nines, grim as death. Wolfred's door was closed, on a low-voiced somber conversation with Friedrich. The valet, also somber, caught the boys and brushed and polished them within an inch of their lives.

"I've been to cheerier funerals," complained Aldrich. "This is supposed to be a party!" Franklin agreed – but then, Tronds celebrated deaths.

"Are you ready to take me down, Aldrich?" Phoebe asked quietly from the door. "You're to present me tonight."

The man who escorted a lady into the ball, announced himself as the broker, should a suitor wish a dance, or to discuss marriage terms. _"Me?_ Wolfred was supposed to present you!"

"Wolfred won't be presenting anyone," said Friedrich, joining them, Sophie in tow. "Come along, son. Franklin, you can go to the ballroom with Wolfred now, please."

Both girls looked more beautiful than Aldrich would have thought possible. Well, it was rare to see Phoebe in a dress, let alone jeweled and coiffed. But Sophie was no stranger to elegance, accustomed to acting as hostess at Castle Bielenfeld for her brother, and even Sophie outshone herself. Flaxen hair was piled high to accentuate willowy figures and elegant necklines, diamonds and sapphires set off creamy complexions and small piercing blue-green eyes. The girls had no nymph ancestry, instead favoring their father Theophilus Lord Bielenfeld's angular face. Both stood half a foot taller than their tiny elder brother. At the staging area, they separated, Sophie with Friedrich to the front of the line to open the ball, the younger sister Phoebe with Aldrich falling in behind Kattrin, on her uncle Elliot von Wincott's elbow. The mood in the room had been festive, until the von Bielenfelds joined the line and cast a pall.

"Oh, Phoebe," said Aldrich, "Soujourn says his uncle Franz the shipping magnate is coming. He's handsome, only 150, and really rich. He'd be good, wouldn't he?"

"A squire's industrialist relative," said Phoebe wistfully. "I'm sure we'd enjoy talking together."

"Well, yeah, isn't that the point?" said Aldrich.

Kattrin turned and patted Aldrich's arm. "But your aunt is of the highest Aristocracy, Aldrich. You look lovely, Phoebe!"

"Thank you, Kattrin. You as well," said Phoebe with a sad smile.

A noblewoman a few places back quipped in a loud stage whisper, "As though any Aristocrat would marry a _factory girl_." Several of her cronies tittered.

Phoebe colored, hands tightening into fists. But Aldrich squeezed her arm with a grin and walked back to the commentator. He bowed with a flourish. "Excuse me, I don't believe we've met. I'm your host at this ball – Aldrich von Trondheim von Bielenfeld, Lord Bielenfeld's sole surviving son. Tonight I'm brokering the hands of Lady Phoebe and Lord Wolfred of this house, as well as Julius Lord Wincott and Hugh Lord Walde. And _your name_, madam?"

"Felicia McDonald," the woman managed to murmur. "Pleased…"

Aldrich grinned most aggressively. "_Felicia McDonald._ I shall to be _sure_ to remember that! Do enjoy the ball, _Felicia McDonald."_

As he rejoined Phoebe, there was considerably more tittering, all at Felicia's expense. Phoebe bit her lip smiling, and squeezed his hand. "You know, Aldrich, for a nephew, you're not half bad."

Aldrich shot her a crooked green-eyed demon smile. "Cheer up, Feeble. It's just a dance. What's the worst that could happen?" He didn't understand why this made her face start falling again.

After their presentations, each lady collected her dance card, several of them to great mystification. Phoebe's first two dances after Aldrich – an expression of highest regard – were Wolfred and Hugh Lord Walde. Cecilie led off with Adeldan Lord Gratz, followed by Wolfred. Kattrin had Julius Lord Wincott, followed by Stoeffel Lord Spitzweg. She was booked solid through the second set, with Hugh somewhere around eighth. And Sophie – who'd had her heart set on Adeldan as long as Aldrich could remember – danced first with Hugh, then Julius Lord Wincott. Adeldan wasn't even on her list.

-oOo-

"My brother has told us much about your trials during the Great War, General," said Sophie, in Hugh's arms for the first dance. "That must have been very difficult for you, being locked up in a tower, to protect you from Trond influence." She tried her best to sound sympathetic. In truth, she couldn't imagine giving her consent to be locked up in a tower – _wimp_.

"Yes, it was. And attacking my own goblin people… Of course I understood the necessity, of having a war leader who understood the enemy, but…"

"They were the_ enemy_, after all," asserted Sophie, frowning at the self-indulgently depressive direction Hugh was taking.

"Ah, yes…" said Hugh uncomfortably. "You seem very knowledgeable, Lady Sophie?"

"My brother believes in educating women equally to men, Lord General, each to the limits of their ability. Is that not the custom in Walde?"

"Um, no," Hugh admitted, fearing that was the wrong answer. Fortunately the dance was over. He bowed and thanked Sophie profusely, eager to run away, at least until he realized that his next dance was with Phoebe.

"I believe my sister Sophie will make a very great Lady," said Phoebe, in his arms, "don't you, Lord General?"

"Ah, she's –" _intimidating as hell,_ "a woman to be reckoned with."

Phoebe nodded emphatically. "Yes, _exactly_. Sophie is a _leader_ among women."

Hugh smiled wanly. _In a wife, it might be nice to have someone to hug me and make me feel better…_ "And you, Lady Phoebe? Are you a leader among women?"

"I'm a daughter of the ancient royal family of Bielenfeld, Lord Hugh. A true Aristocrat lives to serve, as her domain requires."

After the strangely sad Phoebe, Hugh's next three dances were with the most shallow, callow women Friedrich could find. One admitted that she was only 80, but she understood old men like Hugh often needed young virgins to stoke waning desire. _The eighth dance,_ he reminded himself firmly. _Then I dance with lovely Kattrin!_ In the meantime, he endured.

-oOo-

Cecilie was surprised to dance first with the tall blond Adeldan Lord Gratz. She felt tiny enveloped in his massive arms while they danced, unable to see past the vastness of his chest. They spoke lightly, and pleasantly, and assured each other they were very attractive indeed, but neither felt any particular spark. The rugged individualist ranchland of Gratz was so very _not_ Cecilie's thing – she'd be bored to tears in Gratzberg.

Her next dance was with the glitteringly beautiful Wolfred von Bielenfeld, the wealthiest heir in all Shin Makoku – and gay as the day was long, by most reports.

"So, cousin," said Wolfred, expertly leading her into a risqué dip, "shall we be coy, or cut straight to the chase?"

Cecilie giggled. "Perhaps a little of both? Where's the fun of the game if we're too businesslike about it?"

"Oh, agreed!" said Wolfred, drawing her to him to whisper, his breath tickling into her ear. "I hear perhaps you like my modest home and trinkets. But I'm wondering – would you be lonely in a little bed here, while I'm off playing soldier with the boys, or –" he twirled her forcefully, and gathered her back in his arms to tickle her other ear. "Or are you independent enough to take good care of amusing yourself, hm?"

"Well, I could amuse myself," allowed Cecilie grinning. She purred into his ear more quietly, "But we could make some _stunningly_ beautiful green-eyed blond babies. If you're not _always_ off playing soldier with the boys?"

Wolfred swirled her emphatically as the dance ended, and twirled her back into a clutch. "I think we do understand each other, then. _Dear _cousin. Let's think on it."

And he passed her off to the spacey academic Julius Lord Wincott. She sighed. It was a bit like she'd embarked on a wild adventure, only to suddenly be sidelined with a cup of warm milk. Julius was such a sweet man. She chose a goal of having him notice that she was flirting with him by the end of the dance.

He never did.

-oOo-

Friedrich snatched a large goblet of wine from his son's hand. "I don't care for the way you're drinking. Punch only, Aldrich – that's an order!"

Aldrich bowed his head meekly. And then snuck into the ballroom kitchens to add a couple gallons of grain alcohol to the pitchers going out to refresh the punch bowl. Just as he finished, a hand clapped over his eyes.

"Naughty, naughty, uncle," said Wolfred. "Though I must admit, this party could use some livening up." And he produced a vial of powder from his jacket.

Aldrich's eyes widened. "Aphrodisiac? You wouldn't. Not even you, Wolfred!"

"Oh, is that a dare?" Wolfred dumped the whole vial into a pitcher. "So, help me carry, sweetie. Our guests are waiting."

"Maybe we could get together, later," attempted Aldrich. "See how good your powder is?"

Wolfred eyed him sideways, then looked away. "No. I'm about to become a married man." To Aldrich's mutinous green glare he added softly, "The very fact that you mind, says it's too serious. I'm sorry, pretty pet. From now on, you're my baby brother uncle, and that's all."

Aldrich pulled closer to whisper, so the servants couldn't overhear. "But what about the _seeds?_ Have you been to talk to the nymphs yet?" After fooling around sexually, both of them had produced _seeds_ out of their sinuses – _definitely_ not covered by Friedrich's facts-of-life briefing. Wolfred promised to inquire with the nymph-kin, without telling Friedrich they'd been… messing around.

Wolfred shrugged. "Plant them. They grow trees. It's not because we're both nymph-kin, Aldrich. I've done it with normal demons."

"Why won't you look me in the eye?"

"I'll tell you when you've made your century." He put a finger to Aldrich's lips when the youth made to protest. "This isn't the time. C'mon, beautiful. Smile and help me secure the bride of my dreams! Oh, I'm all _aquiver!"_

"You're not really going to marry a _woman_, are you?"

"Yes, sweet prince, I really am. And so will you."

They poured the pitchers into the punch bowl right before the first set of dances ended. Aldrich downed his first goblet right then and there. Then he helped dole out goblets for all the thirsty dancers.

-oOo-

Friedrich – who on rare occasions allowed himself a half glass of sherry before bed – sat on the sidelines, staring most puzzled into his second goblet of fruit punch.

"Friedrish!" cried Hugh. He plopped down beside him, and took the old man by both shoulders. "Kattrin! Didja tell her? Didja ask her? Does she like me?"

"Huh?" said Friedrich, having trouble focusing."Ah, I think I'm…" He keeled over onto the seat next to him and proceeded to snore.

Franklin saw this. Knowing his best friend Aldrich all too well, he dipped up a cup of the punch and tasted it critically. He then hastily instructed the servants to add lots of ice and fruit juice, as quickly as possible. He also ordered pitchers of ice water set out by the hors'd'oevres, the only supper the guests had been provided. But by then most had guzzled a pint or more of the punch, all on empty stomachs.

-oOo-

Sophie couldn't stand it anymore. Watching other girls clamped to that… _chest_… in those… _arms!_ _It should be __**me**__ drowning in Adeldan's embrace! __**Me! **__I don't care! If I have to be Maou and marry that dead fish General Lord Walde, so be it! But first, I want my Adeldan, dammit! I want to give myself – _She marched over to the dance cards and signed up for the last dance of the set with him.

Kattrin danced helplessly with man after man. Was it her imagination, or did they press against her a little much? She'd be too embarrassed to glance down, but they seemed… overly excited. And the more she thought about it, the more flushed and uncomfortable she became. She tried to have a reasonable conversation with them, but her eye kept roving to darling Julius, her best friend, who seemed more alluring by the minute. And she wondered if he was… _sticking into_… the girls he danced to the way these men were… _protruding_… into her. She urgently ordered herself not to think that way, to keep a clear head. But then the man she was dancing with would…_ grind_… into her again, and all she could think about, was how much she wished he were Julius.

Her eighth dance came and she was handed off to Hugh Lord Walde, and didn't even see him. _He's free this dance! Julius is free!_ "Oh, excuse me! I have to –" and she ran away after Julius.

Cecilie, fingers to her lips, saw how distraught Hugh was. She gently stroked her next partner's face, and said, "You don't mind, do you? A mission of mercy." The young man – who hadn't a prayer with Lady Cecilie and knew it – bowed acquiescence.

And Cecilie took the unhappy Hugh's arm. "Perhaps you'll dance with me, General? I'm so sorry cousin Kattrin was distracted. She and Julius are childhood sweethearts."

"Oh," said Hugh, with a sob. "I – oh."

"There, there," said Cecilie, stroking his face. "Perhaps you'd prefer a nice cup of punch together, over a dance? You know, General Lord Walde, you are the most extraordinarily handsome man. Hm." She smiled, and took his hand in both of hers, behind her, so that his hand was perforce resting on the top of her ass, which grew in his consciousness to fill the world, in an enticing sort of way. Cecilie drew him this way to the punch bowl, then out onto the balcony, and then into the box-hedge maze.

They missed the rest of their assigned dances. But the musicians had been guzzling punch, too. Only half came back from their break after the second set, and the ball was so disorganized by that point, they gave it up as well. Sophie and Adeldan, Kattrin and Julius, Wolfred and Lord Krist, were among many having sex up in the nooks and crannies of the ballroom balcony.

-oOo-

A local true healer, summoned by Aldrich's best friend Franklin, managed to revive Friedrich, who opened bleary eyes to an orgy in his ballroom. This actually went rather well with the erotic dream he'd just had, so he blinked stupidly at the scene for a few moments. Slowly a full sense of _wrongness_ dawned into consciousness.

He considered. His green eyes narrowed. He bellowed.

"_SOFEEBLE WOLFRICH VON BIELENFELD! HERE! NOW!"_

And he held his head wincing in pain at his own loud voice, as did several other of the middle-aged brokers who'd been passed out nearby. Elliot von Wincott rolled into a ball on the floor and went back to sleep. The healer moved on to revive others.

Friedrich spied Sophie and Adeldan, Phoebe and the industrialist Franz von Tarkenburg, Wolfred and Lord Krist, and Aldrich with one of the serving girls, all peering cautiously over various lengths of the ballroom balcony banister. He glared at each and tapped his foot. They pulled clothes back on quickly and filed downstairs.

With all four of his young wards finally arrayed before him in _deshabille_, Friedrich said, "May you all grow up to have children –"

"_Just. Like. You_," his half-sisters, grandson, and son chorused on cue. The endlessly creative quartet had more than a little practice with this curse over the years.

"I'm not even going to _ask_ if this was your fault. We all know it was. _Sophie!_ Where is Hugh Lord Walde?"

"I lost track," she admitted.

Adeldan came up and aggressively put his burly arms around her. "Lord Friedrich, I want to marry your sister! Please give us your blessing!"

"I'll think about it," said Friedrich sourly.

"And your great-niece Kattrin!" Julius Lord Wincott called from up in the gallery, clutching the rather disheveled Kattrin to his presently bare chest.

"I'll think about it," repeated Friedrich sourly.

"And I – Grandfather, please bless my marriage to your sister Phoebe!" cried Wolfred, clutching Phoebe to him. Phoebe slapped him, hard. He slapped her back, harder.

"Alright, that I'll allow," said Friedrich sourly.

"And I wish to marry your great-niece Cecilie von Spitzweg!" cried Hugh, coming in from the garden, grass-stains and damp spots all over his and Cecilie's awry clothing.

Friedrich stared at Hugh. He stared at Sophie. He stared at Kattrin. He sighed. "Aldrich? Anyone asking for _your_ hand in marriage tonight?"

"No, Father."

"_Fine! _Permission granted all around. May you _all_ grow to have children just like you!" The other delighted couples double-slapped to seal the deal, then stole off to more private places to seal the deal more thoroughly.

Friedrich considered formally closing the ball, but decided it was a pointless gesture. So he simply headed up to bed. His younger three trooped along behind him.

"You – and Phoebe - ?" stuttered Aldrich, staring aghast at Wolfred and his great-aunt, as they reached the family apartments, finally in private.

"To raise our child together," Wolfred replied, arm around Phoebe, and grinning a most evil green-eyed demon smile. "Aldrich, come meet our love-child."

"Love-child," Aldrich parroted blankly. Some might wonder at how well Wolfred and Phoebe had hidden their affair. He didn't. There had simply never been any such affair to hide.

Friedrich split off to his suite to pass out again. Aldrich followed the newly betrothed couple into Wolfred's bedroom, where Wolfred did indeed produce a beautiful sleeping baby and lay it in Aldrich's arms. "Your first great-nephew, Aldrich. His name is -"

"_Manfred_," inserted Phoebe. "To remind _you_ to act like a_ man_ when you're around him, Wolfred." Wolfred glared at her, but she held her ground. "He's my son, too, _darling_. His name is _Manfred_. And he will be raised to act like it!"

"Um, where did – _Manfred_ – come from?" asked Aldrich. The baby was cute, yes. Also entirely inexplicable. "And why -"

"I'll explain everything when you make your century, hm, pretty prince?" said Wolfred, taking the baby back. "All we need to know for now is that Wolfren – alright, _Manfred_ – is Phoebe's and my son. And we're to be married. Right?"

Aldrich looked mulish.

Phoebe said emphatically, "_Right!_ So, off to bed, Aldrich, no doubt you've drunk like a fish tonight. Yes, off you go."

And Aldrich was pushed out into the hall and Phoebe shut the door in his face. He stared at the door for several moments before he noticed his buddies Franklin and Soujourn beckoning him from the stairs. So he shrugged and went back down to the after-party with them.

"Wolfred and Phoebe had a baby," Aldrich explained to them, practicing the lie for the first time. "While Phoebe was away. A boy, Manfred."

"Huh," said Franklin, not believing a word of it. "Cool."

"Well, at least you got rid of one of them, right?" consoled Soujourn. Aldrich blinked at him blankly. "Sophie'll move away, even if you're stuck with Phoebe."

"Oh…" said Aldrich. "Well… maybe she'll go visit Sophie. _Lots."_

-oOo-

A courier woke the badly hung-over Friedrich not long after dawn, with news that the 25th Maou – many hailed him as the greatest Maou of all time – had died in the night. A letter from Ulrike reiterated her previous instructions, and asked Friedrich who the new Maou was to be.

Friedrich still harbored hopes that Hugh would regain his senses, but found him in Cecilie's bedroom. By morning's light, they reaffirmed their intention to marry. So Friedrich told them that Cecilie was to be the new Maou. By the next day, she set off back to Spitzweg to settle her affairs, before taking up her duties at Blood Pledge Castle.

Kattrin and Julius, childhood friends, had a happy marriage and several children. But Julius died young. Elliot von Wincott, who had already served 50 years as regent for the young Julius, took up his role as regent again for their son Julian. Julian in turn served only 30 years as Lord, before falling in the same human wars that claimed the life of his cousin Suzanna Julia. And Elliot became regent for yet a third child Lord Wincott.

Sophie and Adeldan must have gotten lucky that very first night. They held the wedding in haste, and their son Adelbert von Gratz joined the family with little Manfred von Bielenfeld, a scant nine months after the ball. The boys were cross-fostered, and the sisters rarely parted, simply migrating between Castle Bielenfeld and Gratzberg. To all outward appearances, Sophie and Adeldan showed themselves a happy couple. But it took them 50 years to produce their second child, Brendan. And after 110 years of marriage, Adeldan abandoned wife, sons, and domain one day, without a word of explanation.

Phoebe and Wolfred, only ten years apart in age and raised together, had been bickering as long as they could remember. They never let marriage change that. But though they attacked each other viciously, they never let anyone else say a word against their spouse. Whether they consummated their union, perhaps Sophie knew, but no one else did. Wolfred was lost in combat in Mizrat, 30 years later. After Wolfred was gone, Phoebe became ever more strident in her defense of his memory. He turned into quite the manly hero in her portrayal, as she tried her damnedest to edit out the fact that he was gay. After about five years of grieving, she began a series of remarriages, none of which lasted very long. She was really happier during her unmarried spells, managing the business affairs and industry of the vastly wealthy Manfred von Bielenfeld plantation.

Wolfred died before Aldrich reached his century. He never told Aldrich or Manfred who Manfred's other parent really was, or how. Friedrich considered telling Manfred – not Aldrich – what little he knew, when the boy grew up. But he decided that the unnamed other parent would surely know that Lord Wolfred had died, and left it up to him whether to contact Manfred or not.

Cecilie von Spitzweg and General Hugh Lord Walde waited on children, first growing in their abilities and teamwork as Maou and Chancellor. Even Friedrich had to admit, that though neither of them would have made a good Maou on their own, the two of them together were splendid. The couple had one beloved son, Gwendal, 20 years after the ball. Only 30 years later, Hugh fell into a long illness, and eventually died in bed, the devoted Cecilie and Gwendal close at hand. In Friedrich's opinion, the 50 years of good rule under Cecilie and Hugh, was followed by 70 years of disastrous rule under Cecilie and Stoeffel, until Cecilie was forced to step down. The Ten Aristocrats elected Gwendal as regent, pending the arrival of the 27th Maou, being raised on another world.

Aldrich became the most popular coordinator of Aristocrat marriage balls in Shin Makoku. Though those who remembered his first ball, felt the others paled in comparison.

-oOo-

_Feel free to suggest future one-shot ideas. One that hasn't quite gelled yet is Günter's Great Love. _

_Please review? Reviews (even after a story is complete) fuel more stories… Please?_


	2. Homecoming Part 1

**Kyou Kara Maou – Shining Moments**

Summary: Next installment, Teodor von Trondheim's road to redemption after his treason in _The Trouble with Trolls_. One-shot OC side stories.

Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou is not mine. Its original creator was Tomo Takabayashi, with character design by Temari Matsumoto. The anime was produced by Studio Deen.

_AN:_ On the theory tis better to write _something_ than nothing. And I have a lot of fellow feeling for Ted's plight at the moment. So… this side story could go into _Disaster Up North_, but would make an awfully long digression.

**Prologue**

As conveyed in the tales _The Trouble with Trolls_ and _The Ghosts of Trondheim,_ General Lord Teodor von Trondheim – aka Ted – lost supreme military command of the Shin Makoku army after being _'entrolled'_ by Troll Mother. After nearly 150 years of sterling service as token Trond _'down below'_, and _acting_ supreme commander since Adelbert's treason, Ted returned to Trondheim in disgrace. At the same time, Ted's elder half-brother, Franklin Lord Trondheim, essentially committed suicide by mating, as a sort of passive treason to Shin Makoku. Under the circumstances, Ted was passed over as next Lord Trondheim in favor of his nephew, Franklin's son Lord Erick.

Erick was insecure, too young, alcoholic, and a bit haphazard for his overwhelming new job. He couldn't compete with an illustrious expatriate uncle come home to roost. So Erick assigned Ted the task of _'pacifying'_ the Trond city of Kriegsbad. The Kriegsbad region was conquered from Krist early in the Great Troll and Goblin War, and never returned, as per the terms of the truce (_not_ surrender) which ended that conflict. Violence and hostility, between the native Krist demons and their new mixed-racial Trond overlords, had reigned there for a quarter millenium, akin to war-torn Northern Ireland. Strife was an established way of life, and generations knew no other. Erick hoped that this little chore would keep Uncle Ted out of his hair indefinitely.

**Chapter 2 – Homecoming (Part 1)**

Ted sat alone at the tiny desk in his windowless bed-cubicle, idly turning an obsidian knife, unsure what he doing with it. A dull red charcoal brazier cast the only light on the dark wooden walls and soot-blackened beams. If he stood up straight and stretched his arms out, the big man would touch ceiling and walls of his little chamber. Red light glinted like blood on the black knife. It was 3 am, the Kriegsbad militia barracks silent around him, his fellow militiamen either at work or asleep.

_Full stop._

No one knew better than Teodor von Trondheim how to shut up and soldier. He was a child, only 45, when he joined the Trond Mail. At 60 he was sent _'down below' _to the Shin Makoku army, a token Trond on best behavior. He went where he was sent. He retrained the casual Kriegsbad city militia up to MP standards, tripling its ranks. He imposed martial law on the city, MPs on every street corner. No one liked it. But no one died walking to work anymore. Transport up Kriegsbad Pass was secured by militia convoy. Similar standard brute force procedures minimized mayhem in the countryside. Terrorists were caught, branded, and sent away to prison halls, or sent to Trond Hall or Krist Kringle for execution if need be. Zero tolerance, no compromises. The techniques worked, as always. They'd worked before in Mizrat, Suberia, Dai Cimarron, Freeport, and all his other campaigns for Shin Makoku. Conquer. Pacify. Control.

He used to enjoy it, take great pride in it. Here, he'd done it all on automatic, a wooden marionette. Though if there were strings animating him, he didn't know who was pulling them anymore. Not himself, it seemed.

_My orders from General von Dienst, Sir._ Today, Commander Firenz had arrived, with a regiment sent by Ted's successor at Blood Pledge Castle. Ted and Firenz held to strict military formality, as though they didn't know each other. _We are to cooperate fully with local militia, and secure Kriegsbad Pass._ Cooperation apparently didn't require input on objectives.

Firenz was a good officer, and a good choice for this billet. Taking over the mechanical duty of supply convoys, freeing Ted's locals to focus on the more sensitive local countryside, was a good choice on General Gregor von Dienst's part. Firenz' polite formality was a kindness –

Firenz' formality was a slap in the face. Forty years Firenz had served on Ted's staff. The affable Gratzen was one of Ted's protégés, and Adelbert's before him.

_Two traitor generals you've served now, Firenz. I'm sorry. I'm truly sorry._

_I'm one sorry son of a bitch, all right._

The obsidian knife paused in its idle flipping, as though it had made up its mind to do something about all this. Who knows what. A less likely candidate for suicide could hardly be found. Nor was he a candidate for _'pulling an Adelbert'_ and joining the humans. He'd already done exile – in Shin Makoku. He could never blend in among the humans, and wouldn't want to.

No. He'd come home, foreign as it was. And obeyed orders. General Lord Teodor von Trondheim knew how to shut up and soldier.

_You put one foot in front of the other. And keep going. Especially when you've no idea where anymore, or why. Especially when your heart aches._

The knock on the door startled him. Not waiting for an invitation, a large man with grizzled amethyst hair – half-troll by the size of him – barged right in. Finding he couldn't quite stand up straight in the diminutive chamber, he helped himself to a seat on Ted's bed.

"Shaman Teacher Grannock. And stonemason," the man introduced himself. The stonemason part would explain the man's massive upper body, even more muscle-bound than Ted. "Missed you at services tonight." After a pause, he added, "And every other night, since you've been here."

Ted started to object one way, but then his eye caught Grannock's jewelry, and he paused. _Tassi shaman, like me. Not a Tunni shaman, like Erick and Aunt Alana._ In the near-theocracy that was Trondheim, the self-effacing, communalist Tunni majority seemed the only religion in town. But like his mother, Ted was of the Tassi minority. Same religion, different ideals. The individualistic Tassi strove for personal excellence.

Ted looked away and down, and murmured, "Lord Erick requested that I show family support by acting as a Tunni."

Grannock quirked a lip up. "Lord Erick dictates your conscience for you, eh? My, my. Didn't think anyone could do that for another." It was a foundational Tassi tenet, one of the many squabbles that divided the two sects.

Ted smiled in appreciation of the point, but shrugged. "I've lived without Tassi or Tunni services my whole adult life. Doesn't matter."

"Except when it does," countered Grannock. "I'm the only Tassi shaman in Kriegsbad near your rank on the Path. Saw the shiny troop from Shin Makoku arrive today. Decided it was about time to see what we can teach each other."

Ted frowned. "In the short run, Shin Makoku reinforcements mean _more_ work, not less."

"I see that." Grannock glanced pointedly at Ted's empty little desk, in his barren little room. Ted laid the knife down carefully. "I wasn't thinking it meant you'd have free time. I was thinking that it must rather suck."

Ted's head jerked up, eyes meeting Grannock's.

_Yes, Teodor. See me._

"I have a job to do here," bit out Ted. "I do it."

"No," Grannock countered. "Our folk come to Kriegsbad on a job, they stay at the nice Tassi hotel downtown. Or they meet folk at services and move into a Tassi hall with friends. Looks to me like you've come here as a branded man, to serve out his time. The brand on your forehead says, _'Humiliated.'_ But I've seen bigger cells in the worst branded halls in Gratz Pass. At least you feed yourself well. You're kinda fat."

Ted shot up out of his seat in outrage. And brained himself on the sooty beam above his chair. His angry retort was lost as he sank back to his chair in pain, holding the goose-egg-to-be on his high forehead. "I can't _afford_ a fancy house," he spat out. "No telling how long my savings will have to hold out. As a traitor, I lost my _pension._"

"You don't look like a convicted traitor," Grannock observed. "A supreme general, convicted of treason, should look kinda hung. And drawn. And quartered. _Disgraced_, perhaps. But not a traitor. What Troll Mother did to you is now a serious crime in Trondheim. As you well know. Since your own mother is now branded and serving time in Gratz Pass for the same crime. On the same victim. You really are weak to entrollment, huh."

"And that's _another_ thing," Ted whined, before he could stop himself. He winced. Why was it, that bringing a man's mother into it, could make even the strongest and bravest go knee-jerk angry or whiny? And no matter how tough he was, any part-troll woman could bring him to his _knees!_

"Do you have paper and graphite?" Grannock peered around the barren murk. "We can make a list – 101 Excuses for Dismay."

The 101 Excuses – a basic Tassi children's catechism – surprised a laugh out of Ted. Granted it was more like a snort verging on tears. But he hadn't laughed in a long time. No one had chided him to _'make a list'_ since he was a small child in Tassi school.

"Or, we could go have supper at my hall," Grannock suggested. Most Tronds lived in communal halls, Tassi included. In Kriegsbad, many individual city blocks were organized as _'halls'_ of assorted themes. "There are four Tassi halls to choose from. Mine's mostly working class, Skill Hall, probably not your style. As an Aristocrat, you might fit in better at Prosperity Hall across town. But, we can pack up your stuff – in about five minutes – and you can spend a day or two at each of them, and then choose."

"Weren't you just suggesting I go to services and make friends?" Ted said in alarm, as Grannock pulled his foot-locker out from under the bed.

"Nah, we all know who you are."

An unnerving thought, but doubtless true.

In the end, Ted never left Grannock's place, Skill Hall, the most modest Tassi commune. If he'd thought about it, he would have realized its people reminded him not of the middle-class Tassi of his babyhood home in Sawhill with his mother. Nor of the posh Lugehill suburb, under the sledding slopes near his father in Trond Hall, where his later Tassi classmates lived. Rather, they reminded him of the men and women from all walks of life whom he'd found in the Trond Mail and Shin Makoku army. Consciously, he just noticed it felt comfortable. Within a day, he made more friends than he'd made in his first year in Kriegsbad.

-oOo-

"Oh, I envy you, Teodor," Grannock said, admiring the new mushroom cabinet in Ted's room. The cabinet was a work of art, a giant wardrobe-like antique. Goblin artisans had carved it with bas-relief fungi, exaggerating the natural grain of the wood to show fungus shelving and fluting. The wood was varnished to a glass finish to protect it from its thoroughly damp intended use. Inside, it was full of compartments and drawers sealed with thin slices of horn and mica, to isolate the assorted fungus strains within. Ted bought it during Gob-Mob, his goblin family reunion picnic, and began the painstaking process of innoculating and establishing all the strains. He'd been on the waiting list for one of the few suites in Skill Hall ever since he moved in a couple years ago. But now that he'd established his mushroom cabinet, he'd probably pass up the chance to move, if it finally presented itself.

Grannock continued, "If I have any goblin ancestry, I don't know of it. These were all your Great-Gobbi's stock?" Great-Gobbi – or just Gobbi – was a contraction of Great-Grandfather Goblin, in Ted's case.

"Yeah. Medicinal, food, spiritual, hallucinogenic – Gobbi had the best collection in Sawhill. Mommi kept it up, before she got thrown in jail because of me. Her youngest daughter is minding her farm, but… I wanted to, too, you know? Lots of fond memories of tending the mushroom gallery with my Great-Gobbi." Sawhill's very name proclaimed it a cave community. In Trondheim, _'hall'_ towns were above ground, _'hill'_ below. Thus the mushroom gallery would have been a side gallery off the town cavern. Hills were ever so much easier to keep humid than halls, in the frigid dry air of mountain winter. Usually warmer, too, especially in geothermal hot spots like Glassworks Valley, where Sawhill and Trond Hall lay. "Pass me the spritzer?"

"When did Gobbi pass away?"

"When I was twenty-two. That's when Mommi sent me to live with Poppi full time. Mommi's the mayor in Sawhill. Gobbi took care of me while she worked, and… Well, I would have gone to Poppi in a few years anyway."

Grannock met this half-truth with silence. In matriarchal Trondheim, there was no insult as potent as, _'Even your mother didn't want you.' _ Ted's mother should not have sent him to his father until he was thirty at the youngest.

"Pass me the spritzer, would you?" Ted repeated sourly.

"You have a letter here from Chancellor Gwendal Lord Walde." A big fat envelope, actually. Grannock had barged in ostensibly to deliver Ted's mail. This finally made clear why he would bother – _curiosity._

Ted took the letter and scanned it. "Huh! I've been invited to the war games again."

Grannock looked alarmed.

Ted laughed. "It's just a party, Grannock. High command gets together at Gregor's manor house in Dienst for a week, and we play out war scenarios on paper. They haven't invited me since… Well, since I was the one inviting them_._ I'm teamed with Gregor, Firenz, and Günter von Krist, defending Shin Makoku against Dai Cimarron, played by Gwen, Conrad, and Adelbert –_ that _ought to be fun. And I'm invited to devise and lead another scenario – Trondheim, Gratz, and Walde against all comers. _'I hear peace dawns now in Kriegsbad – I hope you have leisure again to participate.'_ Gwendal has class. Did I ever tell you he's part of my gob mob? Come to think of it, I'm not sure I ever told _him_ that. I bet he and his son Grendel would get a kick out of the Sawhill Gob-Mob picnic, though."

Even in Trondheim, most non-goblins didn't embrace their goblin ancestry the way Ted had recently re-embraced his. The cheerfully promiscuous, dim-witted, eager-to-please goblin males had gifted most Tronds by now with signficant goblin blood. But most such liaisons were temporary flings. Mixed racial children of goblin males were visibly only their mothers' children, except for a walloping bonus in earth majutsu. Only goblin males had mixed-racial children – the women were too small to survive childbirth sired by larger races. Which made other-racial sex with goblin women a particularly reviled form of statutory rape. _'Down below'_, the whole breeding-with-goblins thing was considered shameful, and hidden.

Since goblins tended to line marriages, Ted and Gwendal belonging to the same gob-mob didn't necessarily imply a blood relationship.

"Guess I never talked about my goblin ancestry _'down below'_," Ted murmured. It wasn't a guess. The child had adored his Gobbi. He didn't want to hear demons disparage goblins.

"It's good to see you taking up your old friendships again," Grannock said gently. "You're quite a letter writer." Today's packet included about twenty. His first year in Kriegsbad, Ted had barely responded to a thin spatter of letters from his von Bielenfeld relatives.

Grannock nosily leafed through the rest of the stack. Most letters were from veterans Ted kept in touch with. The new Maou, Yuuri, had downsized the army more than Ted had felt comfortable with. He had to lay off veterans he wouldn't have chosen – soldiers from childhood, with no place else to go. Ted kept tabs on these long-term vets for a few years, to make sure they landed on their feet somewhere.

But after 150 years down below, there wasn't a single letter from a woman. "Ever wonder about your _luck_ with women, Teodor?" Grannock asked.

"Not really," Ted replied quellingly.

"Mommi abandoned you – and that was messier than _'sent you to live with Poppi'_ the way _I_ heard it. Now Mommi's in jail for criminal attempt to entroll you –"

"Look, going to live with Poppi so young wasn't bad. Poppi was a Trond saint. Tant'Alana practically adopted me as her own. I was spitting mad at the time, sure, and terrified of being _'abandoned' _ again. But even that worked out. Poppi would take me with him down to Shin Makoku on Aristocrat business, and I'd stay with my Uncle Friedrich. Learned Algebra there. Wasn't I supposed to give you an Algebra lesson?"

"Aren't you glad you didn't move to Prosperity Hall, where people would be impressed by all this name-dropping of the rich and powerful?"

"Everyone has relatives, even the rich and powerful. My relatives have stressful jobs. My relatives _are_ a stressful job. Except for Gobbi. Who was a delight. Were you interested in my mushroom cabinet or not?"

Supposedly, these two leading Tassi shaman were _trading_ learning, to forward both on their Paths. Ted tried to give as good as he got. But in his opinion, he owed Grannock far more than he could repay in Algebra and fungiculture lessons.

"I'm in awe of your mushroom cabinet. And if you have a good penicillin, I hope you get a culture over to Shaman Healer Noviya. And flirt with her, back to the subject at hand. You really suck at flirting."

"You're not my type, dahling."

"Is that funny? In Shin Makoku? Trond men don't joke about flirting with other men. You know that, right?"

Ted sighed. "I have bisexual relatives down below. Especially the von Bielenfelds. And the Maou's court, of course. It's more accepted down there."

"Hm. I figured it was your Mommi, and your son – why you haven't fucked anyone since you've been here."

_"Ow!"_ Ted hissed, holding his head. He'd banged it yet again on a mushroom cabinet shelf as he came up fighting, in knee-jerk reaction to Grannock's comment.

"Anything in that cabinet good for swelling?" Grannock inquired sweetly.

"How do you know about my son? And – how do _you_ know I haven't - ! _Damn_, the _gossip_ in Trondheim!"

Grannock smiled sympathetically. "Everyone knows you had a half-human son by accident, on a teenage human prostitute, in Suberia, in your sixties, when you were at training camp in Shin Makoku. Named Tepper, wasn't he? Tepper Dore – cute. Your Poppi never let you acknowlege him, because he'd be a grown man before you were. Your cousin Aldrich was his legal guardian, let you help raise him, so long as it didn't compromise your career. Then the boy left to find his way outside Shin Makoku. Sad.

"Maybe most Tronds don't know _everything_ about you, Teodor. But you're the most prominent _Tassi_ in the world. If you'd fucked anyone since you got to Kriegsbad, I'd know about it. Did you have women in Shin Makoku?"

Ted banged the back of his head – intentionally and gently – on the mushroom cabinet door, as he sat back on the floor. "Algebra lesson?"

"No thank you. Answer the question."

"I had mistresses. Usually on a ten-year contract. Simple business arrangement."

Grannock waited for him to correct this half-truth.

"That's how it's done down below, Grannock." Ted's adversary studied his stone-broken nails. Ted whispered at last, "OK, I tried to care about them. At first. They didn't care about _me._ And I tried the Aristocrat circuit. I just…" Ted closed his eyes and schooled his face back to unflappable bland.

"You need to learn to flirt."

"I don't want to sleep with them, Grannock."

"I see that. But you need to learn to _flirt_ again, Teodor. You don't have to screw 'em if they flirt back. But you're all wrong here, _still._ Trond men and women _flirt._ It's everyday, all around us. It's how we _talk_ to each other. Flirt. Strut and swagger a little with other men when women are present. Friendly competition. The whole way you carry your body. You treat women like bank tellers. You treat men like it doesn't matter that they're male. You're always a little too gruff, a bit too serious, like you've got a stick up your butt _all_ the time – it's just _off._ You don't act Shin Makojin anymore, ghosts be praised. But you don't act Trond again yet, either."

Ted stared at him, considering.

"Your friend Adelbert, who was through here. He was a good model," Grannock offered helpfully. "Not Aldrich – he doesn't trust women. Or Manfred, his sexuality is way too dark for you. Rape victims." Grannock shook his head in compassion. "Adelbert flirts just about right. He likes women. Has a nice affable competition thing with men."

"Rape victims?" Ted echoed. He considered Manfred his best friend. Aldrich was like a big brother. He'd never thought of either of them as _'rape victims'._

Grannock shrugged. "What do you call it, when a queen orders a youth to beget a son on her, then the boy doesn't even get a chance to claim the son. Cecilie's older than Manfred's _parents. _Maybe not rape, exactly. Sexual abuse of a minor. Abuse of royal power. It's no wonder Manfred's relationships with women are so dark. And Aldrich, with that whole Gratz Pass thing."

"You know what happened to Aldrich in Gratz Pass?" Ted didn't, nor even Aldrich's husband Manfred so far as Ted knew. His late brother Franklin had known, of course. He'd been stranded with Aldrich that winter in Gratz Pass, when they were in their seventies. But Franklin wouldn't speak of it, no more than Aldrich did. They both got pretty strange after that winter. Aldrich never returned to the Trond Mail, could barely be forced to visit Trondheim for years afterwards. But, he'd served nine years, and was only supposed to serve ten.

Grannock paused. "Excuse me. I assumed the family knew. I spoke out of turn."

"Spill it, Grannock. If every gossip in Trondheim knows, and his own family doesn't –"

"Not gossip. I never heard any gossip about Aldrich and… Well, only speculation, anyway."

"Then how do you know? Tell me. Please."

Grannock sighed. "I know _where_ they were stranded in Gratz Pass. They would have tried to make it to a nice goblin community, before the blizzard caught them. If they'd succeeded, well, they'd have enjoyed a lovely winter. Bit cramped. But there's a branded hall just shy of there. I was on the Kriegsbad militia detail that marched them there. I know it must seem to you, what the hell, why hasn't anyone ever cleaned up and dealt with these miscreants in Kriegsbad before. Truth is, we _have_ been, all along. The worst of them, they're already branded and put away. That group – the leader, she would have liked Aldrich all too well. Dead now, ghosts be praised. I shared her death feast."

Grannock had never been regular militia. Used to be, branded escort into exile was a privilege of the victims' families, and the right to eat the deceased criminal as well. Ted murmured softly, "Who did she hurt? Of yours."

"My son and daughter, both. My daughter survived, bit the worse for wear. Hatred. It's not about sex. Not about desire. It's pure hatred. Spawned of evils done to them in the past, and they pay it forward, an endless vicious cycle. _That's_ why, Teodor! Don't you see?" Grannock met Ted's eyes in urgent anguish. "_Tell them_ you're a goblin, dammit! _Be_ a Trond! _Be_ Shin Makojin. _Be_ a troll man, who can be raped by a troll woman – mind or body, it doesn't matter! _Be_ all of it, _whole!_ All the time! Stop_**hiding**_**!**

"Teodor, I served under you when you walked as your grandfather, Teyu D'Oriel, greatest warlord of Trondheim. Did you even _tell_ them, down below? You complain that they made you only _acting_ supreme commander. But they were _right_, dammit, weren't they? You were _**acting!**_Be _whole, _Teodor! Then – _then! –_ you can stop the cycle. _Then_ you can stop the hatred!"

Ted took in this tirade, stunned at first. "I understand," he said gently. And somehow, not rationally, he did. He understood what Grannock was asking him to do, to be. And that this could heal the interracial hatred in Kriegsbad.

Grannock had been leading him this way all along. The Shaman Teacher wasn't trying to advance either of them on their Tassi shaman Paths. Nor to get Ted past his career slump. Neither man cared for such small change.

Grannock, spent, sat on the floor in front of him, back to the bedframe, amethyst-grizzled head on his arms across his knees. "I apologize for my outburst, Teodor," he mumbled. "I get… worked up."

"Don't apologize. I thank you for your insight. That was truly useful," said Teodor. "So… My next step is learning to flirt, huh?"

"If you could, yes, please," Grannock deadpanned.

Ted helped the older man up from the floor, and hugged him hard, before he left the room. "I love you, Grannock. Thank you."

"I hope that wasn't an attempt to flirt, Teodor," Grannock grumped. "It sucked on so _many _levels. Promise me you'll never say that to a man again. Nor a woman. Unless you're trying to scare her off. If you want her to ask you to marry her, even worse. With a woman of your own caliber, ghosts' sakes, find a more creative way to say it. A three syllable declarative sentence is just _lame."_

Later, answering his mail, Teodor signed his letters '_Teodor'._ He'd used the nickname _'Ted'_ down below, just because they mispronounced his name _'TAY-uh-dor'_ instead of the correct _'TEH-oh-dor'._ As a kid of 60, he hadn't felt right correcting his elders_._ What a silly thing to hang onto for a century and a half.

-oOo-

_Please review? Response (even after a story is complete) fuels more stories… Please?_

_This one's almost done – it's just long enough that it needed to be split up into two chapters._


	3. Homecoming Part 2 of 2

**Kyou Kara Maou – Shining Moments**

Summary: Final installment of Teodor von Trondheim's road to redemption after his treason in _The Trouble with Trolls_. One-shot OC side stories.

Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou is not mine. Its original creator was Tomo Takabayashi, with character design by Temari Matsumoto. The anime was produced by Studio Deen.

**Chapter 3 – Homecoming, Part 2**

The cause of peace had come a long way in five years. Teodor was idling away a rainy afternoon at the library in Krist Kringle. He had a cocktail party to attend with Krispin Lord Krist at the castle later. In the meantime, the library was Krispin's pride and joy – all the von Krists were book nuts. At last night's soiree he'd bragged about his new librarian and her foreign books collection. Teodor wouldn't miss it.

Except the only librarian in evidence was running herd on a dozen little tweenage students. Their rightful teacher was taking a wrongful powder. She'd left the librarian in the lurch for a quarter hour so far. The other patrons had left, or escaped into the stacks in a vain search for quiet. He couldn't help but admire the harried woman's grace under pressure.

It was a shame she dressed like a librarian. Her dull grey dress extended from high collar to mid-calf, over sensible ankle boots. Her hair was the most gorgeous color, waves of purplish burgundy with gold highlights, rather haphazardly caught up in a large bun, secured with a couple chopsticks. Huge horn-rimmed, bottle-glassed bifocals likewise served camouflage over enormous glacier-aquamarine eyes. Tall for a demon woman, she stood a little over 6 feet in boots.

_I like that height in a woman. Fits just under my chin. Wide hips, too._ Not pear-shaped with fat or anything. In fact, she was a bit lean, with normal width bones above a wasp waist, just heavy boned below the waist. His son's mother had died in childbirth. Teodor hadn't touched a woman with narrow hips since. The librarian's breasts were about as generous as could be managed without getting burdensome.

Grannock's insistence that he learn to flirt had borne fruit. Once, Teodor might have frowned at the lack of discipline in this establishment. But Kristi civilians were more orderly than Trondheim's majority half-sloshed slackadaisical Tunnis. Time was, he wouldn't have looked twice at the librarian, past the outfit's plain signal, _Not seeking men._

A few of the mini barbarians got loose and approached him in his armchair. Teodor watched in amusement as a whispered conference elected a spokesgoat. The tow-headed freckled winner gulped, and spoke up. "Are you a _troll?"_

"Part troll, yes," Teodor agreed affably. "A bit less than half. My name's Teodor. What's yours?" He didn't rise to tower over the poor kid, just extended his huge hand for a shake. The kid bravely extended tiny paw. Teodor grasped it gently for a little shake.

"I'm Gottfried," the boy replied. "You don't talk funny. I thought trolls talked funny."

Ted smiled. "Well, I do speak Trondish, too. But you're right, I don't have much of an accent. I've been speaking Shin Makogo since I was your age. Actually, where I live now, in Kriegsbad, everybody speaks Shin Makogo these days."

That was boring. "Do you really kill people and _eat_ them?"

_Well, yes. And yes…_ Before Teodor could formulate an answer, the masked beauty of a librarian rushed to his aid. "Gottfried, Tronds don't kill people _in order to_ eat them. Do they, Mister Teodor? I'm Kemmi, by the way." She winked at him and extended a hand.

"Pleased to meet you, Kemmi," Teodor replied gratefully, lingering over the handshake with a flattering warm smile. "Commander Teodor, of the Kriegsbad militia. Yes, Gottfried, Kemmi is right. Have any of you visited Kriegsbad?"

"No, it's too dangerous!" squealed one of the little girls.

"Oh, it _was,"_ agreed Teodor. "But not anymore. In _fact,_ this year we've had less crime than Trond Hall _or_ Krist Kringle. And this is a pretty safe city, isn't it?"

The girl looked blank. The boys looked disappointed.

Kemmi rallied again. "Is it true, Commander Teodor, that there are _lots_ of different races in Kriegsbad these days?"

"Oh, yes," agreed Teodor. "This past year, in my… um, apartment block, we even had a family of _pixies_ living with us! The mom was pregnant with twins, and had three little ones besides, so we didn't want to put her in refugee housing. I'll tell you, there's not much cuter than a baby pixie!" He indicated about three inches with his fingers over the vast palm of his other hand.

"Do they really fly?" asked another boy.

"Yes. _Everywhere._ The babies learn how to fly before they can walk. Like little hummingbirds zipping around. Screaming in really high-pitched little voices," he added to Kemmi. "Quite a distraction at supper. And you'll break their little wings if you swat at them."

Kemmi returned him an amused grimace.

The delinquent teacher returned in horror, to see her charges all ringed around the scary troll in official Trond brown and scarlet uniform, complete with service knife. The Trond definition of _'knife'_ being a blade less than or equal to the length of the bearer's forearm – rather long, in Teodor's case.

Into this woman's gaping maw, Teodor said sweetly, "No! Are _you_ these children's teacher? I thought Kemmi was! You kids are so lucky. Schoolmarms in Trondheim aren't _nearly_ as pretty and nice as these fine ladies!"

The teacher – actually rather cranky and dumpy looking – huffed in amused disapproval. "Elf, are you?"

Elves had a rather depraved and well-earned reputation. "Why yes, a bit over a quarter elf," Teodor agreed disingenuously. "That's why I'm so delicate." _For a half troll._

"You said troll," Gottfried objected.

Teodor skipped the math – this crowd wasn't ready for fractions. "Yup, I'm _both._ Goblin, too. Mm, they tell me I'm part demon, like you. I'm not so sure about that bit."

"What is _he_ doing here?" the schoolmarm hissed at Kemmi. "I go away for just a few minutes and – hmph!"

It had been more like half an hour. "Why, this is a public library," replied Kemmi sweetly. "Commander Teodor has been so kind, telling us all about Kriegsbad. Hasn't he, children? How about a round of applause to thank the nice militiaman?"

Kemmi and Teodor both smiled benignly as the field trip decamped. Then shared a laugh of relief when the heavy library doors closed behind them. "I'm sorry about that, Commander," Kemmi said. "I shall have to write a letter to her headmaster."

"Please, call me Teodor. You've nothing to apologize for, Kemmi. I came in for entertainment on a rainy afternoon. And I have been entertained." He bowed, still seated.

"Oh, good! Were there any _books_ I could help you find, Teodor?"

"Actually, yes. Lord Krispin was bragging to me to me last night about your foreign collection?"

"Oh!" Kemmi clapped her hands in glee. "A fellow xenophile, as well as a bibliophile! Be still my pounding heart!" Continuing the theatrics, she peered down assorted stacks, looking for patrons. "Good, the hellions scared everyone off. Follow me!"

Beckoning him to follow, Kemmi rucked up her dowdy skirt, and pelted up the library's grand staircase like a schoolgirl. Teodor followed in delight – and slightly more decorum – up past a velvet rope marking the second floor as closed stacks.

"So," Kemmi said on the landing, rubbing her hands together before her chest. "What do you want to _know,_ Teodor? Every good library adventure begins with a question, don't you think?"

"Ah, I hadn't thought," Teodor admitted. "How many books do you have?"

"About 10,000," Kemmi said. "In the foreign collection. Any particular region? Subject of interest?"

"_Ten!_ – where did these all come from!"

"My personal collection, mostly, plus odds and ends. I was away fifty years studying among the humans, and sent these back. They're organized by subject, as well as by region or country – depending on size and how stable the borders are, you know. Most volumes are industry and technology, how to. Histories. Other works I felt gave good insight into local culture, what makes people tick. Religious books, cheap popular fiction, some great literature."

"Military history?"

"Yes, some. I have an editorial bias there, though," Kemmi confided. "I'm mostly interested in what lessons _they_ feel they've learned from the past. So I rarely bother with retrospectives written less than 20 years after the fact. With some exceptions…" She crooked a finger for him to follow as she strode down a gallery. "These, for instance, are fairly recent news, regarding the Adreschuldi civil war." She tapped a volume or three for each topic she outlined. "Roots of; Dai Cimmarron involvement in; growth of Shadrach cult in Dai Cimmarron; same in Porthic Empire between…" She looked at him apologetically. "I was in the Porthic Empire last," she confided. "Kind of regretted leaving just before all the excitement."

Teodor laughed, worrying her. "Excuse me. It's just that most women I know would run _away_ from a breaking civil war."

Kemmi smiled bashfully. "Well… That _would_ be more sensible," she allowed.

_I think I'm in love,_ thought Teodor. _And yes, Grannock, with this one, a three syllable declarative sentence definitely_ _would not do …_

Kemmi was still thinking of conflict. "Is it really true – the crime rate was lower in Kriegsbad than Krist Kringle and _Trond Hall_ this year? Teodor, that's simply amazing." Sincerity shone in her eyes. "I was born in the Kriegsbad Hills – Günter von Krist's estates, once. Though I don't remember it. My parents wanted to stick it out. It was _our land_, after all, not _Krist,_ or _Trondheim._ But, by 75 years after the war, the violence seemed never-ending. And my brother and I had come along by then. Father didn't give in easy. _'Evil wins when good men surrender,' _he always said. I wish he'd lived to see this. Thank you, Teodor. You and all your men and women in the militia. _Thank you."_

He left the library that evening with a book, and a date to return it the next day over lunch. The library was closed that day, and lunch turned into an afternoon together.

He'd expected her to dress up. He himself was stuck with the militia uniforms he'd packed for his meetings. But to his delight, Kemmi dressed _down –_ to worn suede Porthic riding jodhpurs over tall Mizrati-style boots, mismatched with a trim tweed jacket from Freeport, and a slouchy visored cap that was all the fashion – for men – 50 years ago in Lesser Cimarron. She brought astonishingly huge white horses, bred from the ones she'd ridden away from the Porthic Empire. The stallion was big enough for even Teodor to ride.

-oOo-

"No, Teodor!" Kemmi cried. "You _cannot_ disillusion me like that! I shall just continue believing the author was a _dashing_ cavalryman!"

Teodor conceded defeat with a little wave and a chuckle, and the couple applied themselves to their tea for a few smiling moments. They sat cozily on a short couch in her apartment's living room. She was within easy arm's reach. If he should reach. _Should I?_

This was his first evening _in_ Kemmi's home. He'd finally braved a good night kiss at the door the night before. He wasn't sure how to proceed with her. He'd only known her a few days. He needed to leave tomorrow. She was unlike anyone he'd ever known. He wasn't interested in a one night stand, and she wasn't that kind of woman anyway. Nor was she an Aristocrat, nor a Trond. Her very familiarity with customs world-wide, left him in doubt as to which customs might apply. But _he_ was Trond, he decided. _Let's stick to my own customs._ Trond custom decreed – the man invites, entices, flatters, but never presses. Ladies' choice – _always._

This confused Kemmi a fair bit. She kept hoping he'd make a move on her, and thought she was inviting it. Perhaps he was, sadly, only interested in an intellectual friendship. But then she'd get so caught up in their conversation, she forgot all about it.

"Kemmi," Teodor murmured, his voice low and soft. "What made you come back? To Krist, to Shin Makoku." He didn't reach all the way to her, but almost, arm flung along the couch back, massive hand dangling a half inch shy of her shoulder.

The question jarred her out of happy reverie. She quickly covered this by retrieving her tea cup from its saucer. "Oh, I… Several reasons conspired, I suppose. Any one thing, wouldn't have…"

She shook her head to clear it, and started again. "I was fired from my job as a spy for Shin Makoku, you see. I was engaged in the Porthic Empire, though, so I stayed, and married him. It… didn't go well. Then he died and his family thought they owned me. So I left in a hurry. And now I'm back here," she concluded, with contrived smile.

Teodor frowned. "Spy?" _Kemmi was no spy of Shin Makoku. _

Kemmi quirked an eyebrow at Teodor's reaction. "Oh, not a _real_ spy – they work for the military. I was hired by Franklin Lord Trondheim, when he was Foreign Lord. For deep research. But then he resigned over disagreements with Chancellor Stoeffel Lord Spitzweg, and Lord Stoeffel… Well, he didn't think a demon woman should be overseas. Though I already _had_ been overseas for fifty years by then." She scowled, presumably at Stoeffel.

"My _brother_ hired you! You must be _K. Guntersglen!_" Teodor laughed out loud. "All this time, I never realized you were a woman! Or even Shin Makojin. Your analyses were brilliant!"

"Your _brother!_ You must be – _Ted von Trondheim._" But whereas Teodor had laughed and drawn closer, Kemmi withdrew. Hands so dramatic in their gesticulating, now folded neatly into her lap, on knees drawn together stiffly, feet and legs uncrossed, back straight. Her glacier blue eyes, huge in their bottle-thick glasses, stared wide at him.

And hope died in Teodor's heart. He swallowed. All the humiliation and shame he'd felt when he'd first lost command of the army, so painstakingly redeemed over the past five years, crashed back on him with a vengeance.

_She wouldn't have dated the traitor General Lord Ted von Trondheim._

"I'm… so sorry," he murmured. "I assumed you knew who I was. Oh… _Ted._ Yes. I don't use the nickname Ted anymore." He shot up to leave, saying, "Madame. I am so sorry to have come here under false pretenses – _Ow!_" Ow, for when he straightened, he bashed his forehead on a ceiling beam again.

"Ah!" said Kemmi, rising in dismay. "Oh, please do sit down, Teodor!" As they sunk back to the couch, she peeled his thick fingers off his forehead. "You have a lot of scars on your forehead," she noted.

"_Yes,"_ he hissed, involuntarily. He cleared his throat. "Yes. The amazing part is, I do this just as often in Trondheim. I – Kemmi – I'm sorry. I thought you knew."

"Yes, that's clear," said Kemmi, sitting back, no longer at librarian-style erect attention, but thoughtful. "It's true, we probably wouldn't have become friends, if I'd known."

"I'm a traitor," he said bitterly.

She considered that for a moment. "Are you, Lord von Trondheim?" she asked. "A traitor, to Shin Makoku? I seem to recall Troll Mother entrolled you. What a vile trick. And cruel. But you wouldn't have fought for her, against Shin Makoku, outside of her spell. Would you?"

This, Teodor's mind had skittered away from, all this time. Now he faced it square on. Tempting as it was to dissemble, he quietly returned her the truth. "Yes. Probably. When Shin Makoku had turned its back on me. When Shin Makoku was in arms against Trondheim. I would have fought my best for Trondheim. But I would not have started down that road, without her entrollment."

Kemmi nodded slowly. And astonished him by replying, "Lord Stoeffel declared me traitor. A spy who remained and married native." She frowned crossly. "The Porthic Empire wasn't our _enemy _at the time – or at any other time in history." She dismissed that quibble with a wave. "He didn't prosecute me. Just – abandoned me. It was a long road back, coming home. Did you find it so?"

Kemmi's melodramatics were gone. The real Kemmi, and the real Teodor, spoke long into the night. They made love, slept, talked, and parted after breakfast.

And long distance, their relationship grew.

-oOo-

Teodor found himself in his bed at Skill Hall, dazed and ill, coming back to his senses, but weak as a kitten. _Again._ He cracked an eye open to see if the world held anything of immediate interest. The dark wooden room looked completely at peace.

Then Grannock stuck his gizzled amethyst head into Teodor's field of view. "Coming to? Good. The militia need to know if you're pressing charges against the woman. For rape. She says not."

Teodor scrunched his eyes closed again. "No. Set her free."

"Thought so. I'll be back," said Grannock, both promise and threat.

With the room empty, at first Teodor was still muzzy enough to let his thoughts drift with the dust motes. Unfortunately, the troll mating pheromones were wearing off. Brief mental glimpses of the _'shit, what have I done?' _variety began to disturb his stupor.

His friend – and spiritual tormentor – Grannock returned. He fed Teodor water, checked the pupils of his eyes, and satisfied himself that Teodor was on the mend.

Then he dragged a wooden chair by the bed with an awful scraping screech, and got down to business. "Why'd you do it?"

"Private…" Teodor murmured.

Grannock snorted. "I'm not asking for _my_ information, Teo. I already know why you did it. I'm just making sure _you_ know."

Teodor closed his eyes, frowning softly.

Grannock continued, "You're beyond weak to entrollment. Probably born that way. Maybe if you hadn't left your Mommi too young. Maybe if you'd lived your life in Trondheim instead of Shin Makoku, gotten exposed more. But you weren't. And even if you were, you'd probably still be weak. Your father died _'going to the trolls'_. And your brother."

"I know," Teodor murmured.

"It's suicidally risky. And you're in love with this demon librarian, Kemmi. Yet, you try a one-nighter with one of the Daughters, high troll as you can find in Kriegsbad. Whom I'm quite sure you don't give a damn about."

"No. What do you want from me?"

"I want you to face why you did it."

Eventually, Grannock left. Teodor had only himself to answer.

_I'm sorry, Poppi. I'm sorry, Franklin. I'll never breed up-troll. You gave your lives for the restoration of the trolls. But the trolls are reborn – full-blooded trolls. And I love Kemmi, a demon woman. Your dream… it doesn't make sense, not for me. It never really did._

_ Forgive me._

-oOo-

"You have straw in your hair." Teodor chuckled and plucked yellow and brown bits out of Kemmi's lustrous burgundy waves, much dissheveled by the evening's festivities. They'd just sat down to eat a Midwinter's Eve midnight spread at Teodor's cafeteria at Skill Hall. "My apologies for putting you to work on a holiday, and your first night here." He didn't look apologetic, grinning and euphoric like that.

Kemmi laughed and touched noses with him. "I've never had so much fun in my life, Teodor, and you know it!"

"Hope I'm not interrupting," said Grannock. He slapped his tray down on the long table across from them. He wasn't apologetic in the slightest, either. They were, after all, in the cafeteria. "Operation Goat Gift complete, Teodor?"

"All three hundred and twelve goats have new homes with the poor of Kriegsbad," Teodor confirmed. He clunked cider mugs with Grannock in cheers, and introduced him to Kemmi.

"I think you have a _marvellous_ holiday tradition, Teodor!" Kemmi said, glacier-blue eyes glowing on him. "Giving gifts to the poor at Winterfair. The looks on those children's faces, hugging their new goats! Was that really your only gift from your family – goats?"

"Only fair, I didn't get _them_ anything," Ted quipped. "Tant'Alana agreed, the goats were a good investment."

Grannock nodded. "Envy and hopelessness fuel crime and violence. Not much left to do here. Getting time to move on, isn't it, Teodor?" With wide sweep of massive arm, he beckoned over another woman just emerged from the buffet line.

Teodor's eyes narrowed, though he introduced Kemmi to his second pleasantly enough. Commandant Andreya was a middle-aged burly elf-troll hybrid just a couple inches taller than Kemmi, a racial hybrid similar to Teodor but with elf instead of troll ascendant in her makeup, and close-cropped dark teal hair to Teodor's shoulder-length royal blue. She was the permanent militia leader for Trondheim's Kriegsbad region.

Andreya also had a family and her own house across town, and no particular right to eat supper at Skill Hall, much less a holiday feast. Teodor omitted those details. Andreya affably elbowed her way in to sit by Grannock.

Grannock let the two women bond for a few minutes, then cut in, "Andreya, I was just mentioning that it's nearly time for Teodor to move on. Don't you think?"

Teodor wrapped an arm around Kemmi and shook his head to her in a definite _'don't mind him'_ message. Kemmi ducked and laughed as a baby pixie flew by her ear, his shrill mama yelling at him to '_Get back here!'_ "Kind of a madhouse," Teodor apologized. "We'll go out to a quiet restaurant a couple times while you're here, too."

Kemmi shook her head. "It's all fascinating!" And it was – she seemed to be the only demon in the throng, and Trond customs reigned here. Not even mainstream Trond customs, but those of the unfamiliar Tassi minority.

"Trond Hall next, I say," asserted Andreya, eyes seeking Teodor's in challenge. Then she leaned over to confide to Kemmi, "Traditionally, in Trondheim, the Queen's right hand should be her warlord, not a politician. Not that Erick isn't a very _good-looking _politician. Quite the hunk, really. But Teodor's not hard on the eyes, either." She winked at him.

Kemmi smiled politely and blinked at the concept of manly hunkishness as a qualification for the Lordship of Trondheim. She'd personally worked with the ruling Lords Franklin, Stoeffel, and Krispin. The von Krists all tended to the willowy. Franklin got rather heavy later in life, and bore an earnest and homely face compared to his son and younger brother. And Stoeffel was just too much of a jerk to notice his looks.

Teodor modestly acknowledged Andreya's compliment with body language, but answered the point. "Gratz Pass, if you're actually asking." He didn't look happy about it. "Haven't agreed yet, but that's Erick's concept."

"Subdue the branded halls?" asked Grannock dubiously. "They're already locked up. Not much point in that. Think '_sands',_ Teyu!"

"Teh-OH," Teodor corrected sharply. That was intentional, not a slip of the tongue, for Grannock to call him Teyu, his grandfather-the-warlord's name. _Reincarnation I may be, but I am not Teyu D'Oriel. I am not obliged to finish his fight! _

"Igor, what are you doing?" Grateful for the interruption,Teodor ducked under the table and drew out a squirming little troll. "Kemmi, I think Igor untied your boots," he explained with a chuckle.

_"Sands,"_ Andreya echoed, looking quite taken with the idea. Her eyes were glowing. "Ambitious!"

"Sands?" Kemmi inquired, lost.

But little Igor straight-armed her. "_No!_ Teodor is _my Mommi's!"_

"Hush, Igor!" warned Teodor.

"Igor's Mommi Mhairi works in the kitchens here," Grannock explained to Kemmi. "She has no claim on Teodor, don't worry. But Igor here thinks Teodor would make a perfect Poppi for him. Well, Mhairi thinks so, too. But it's not like she has a hope of that."

"Mhairi's a good kid," allowed Teodor. "And Igor's a rotten scoundrel. Aren't you, scamp?" He roughed up the boy's hair, smiling. Teodor confided in Kemmi, "He's not half as bad as I was to my Mommi's boyfriends at his age."

"Aha! Guilt drives you!" remarked Grannock with a wink. Teodor laughed.

"Did you look like him, too, Teodor?" Kemmi asked, delightedly studying the squirming little pot-bellied Igor, who grinned at her fiercely. _If I had a child by Teodor…_ The intent little boy looked so _cuddly!_

"We're all descended from Troll Mother," Teodor shrugged. "Yields a strong family resemblance. Huh, Igor? He's not _mine_, if that's what you're asking," he clarified to Kemmi, with a wink.

"Igor's Poppi is a half-troll," Andreya supplied, "and Mhairi a demon. The father's Mommi forbade him to recognize the child, because Mhairi's not troll." Andreya, Grannock, and Teodor unanimously shook their heads in condemnation. "He used to work for me, in the militia. He chose his Mommi over his kid, and fled up into the mountains, in disgrace. Good riddance."

"He used to live at Skill Hall," Grannock explained. "So with Mhairi left in the lurch, we gave her a place here, so long as she and Igor need it."

Kemmi blinked, trying to keep up with this rapid-fire review of different customs and standards. She was unusually good at that, however.

"So we all help be Igor's Poppi, until Igor picks one. Right, Igor?" Teodor concluded.

Igor kneeled up on Teodor's thighs (Teodor winced), and confided wide-eyed, "She's a _demon,_ Teodor!" Then suddenly screeched, "_Mommi! Mommi!_ A _demon's _gonna get me!"

"Oy, Igor!" the Tronds chorused.

A harrassed looking young woman, pale blue hair steamed limp, hustled out of the kitchens toward them. She appeared to be a perfectly ordinary working-class Krist demon – only the second of them in the room, after Kemmi.

"Oy, Igor!" she echoed everyone else's sentiments. An elderly man to Teodor's right rose and pushed out his chair for her, and resumed conversation with his own clique, standing. The tired Mhairi sank to the chair gratefully, and gazed in exasperation at her little pot-bellied terror. "Sorry he's being a pest again, Teodor. No offense, I hope, Ma'am," she offered shyly to Kemmi. "Igor, _I'm _a demon. You don't need to be scared of demons here in the Hall!"

"Maybe Igor doesn't need to be scared of demons anywhere," Teodor offered mildly.

"Really, Mhairi," Grannock chided. "Don't try to control the child by lying to him. Life's confusing enough already."

"Well, I –" Mhairi began weakly, but a holler came from the kitchens, _'Mhairi, get your ass back in here!' _

"I'll take Igor," offered a humble man intermediate in size between Mhairi and Teodor. Teodor immediately handed the little squirmer over, with a grateful and encouraging nod. "No worries, Mhairi – get on back to work. We'll see you after your shift's done. Won't we, Igor? We'll wait and have supper together."

Mhairi bit her lip, unsure, then ducked a kiss onto Igor's forehead. "Well, thank you, Bart," she said shyly. "And you behave, you little monster!" She waggled a finger at Igor, whose eyes comically waggled back and forth with it. And the Igor group left them.

"Good luck, Bart!" Andreya called after the man encouragingly. "She'll yield yet!" Teodor and Grannock gave him a thumb's-up, too.

"Mhairi doesn't have nearly that kind of sense," Grannock critiqued. "Wants a bigger man, so it _looks_ like Igor's his all along." He rolled his eyes. "Women."

Andreya cheerfully punched him. "She'll figure it out. She's young yet."

Kemmi ventured, "Are Bart and Mhairi and Igor particular friends of yours, Teodor?"

"Not really," Teodor replied. "Igor's always underfoot here, while Mhairi's working. He's fun to play with."

"No privacy in Trondheim," Andreya answered Kemmi, with a grin. "Now, how many times has Teodor kissed Kemmi in public today?" She apparently asked their neighbors at the long table in general, who'd seemed to be minding their own business.

_"Three." "No, four." "Seven." "Nose-rubbing isn't kissing. It's four kisses and three nose-rubs, isn't it?"_ Consensus was reached. And in fact, Kemmi's memory concurred. Including one kiss she'd _thought_ was private, the tally was indeed four kisses and three nose-rubs.

"No privacy in Trondheim," Teodor echoed to her, apologetically. "You get used to it…"

Andreya winked at Kemmi, and rose to leave. "And we're all rooting for you! Good to meet you, Kemmi! _Sands,_ Teodor! Or Trond Hall."

Grannock decided to go as well. "Delighted, Kemmi. Don't forget you're calling the ghosts at dawn services, Teodor. _Sands."_

"Sands?" Kemmi prompted.

"Mm, if you're done, I should probably show you to your suite," replied Teodor, rising.

"Suite?" Kemmi prompted, with a frown.

And they rose, to what appeared to be a sea of grinning thumbs-up, pointed in their direction. "No privacy whatsoever in Trondheim," Teodor repeated, redundantly. He bowed slightly to the audience, with a grudging grin, and his hall-mates happily returned to their own business.

"Well, it could be worse," Kemmi murmured. "They could _disapprove._"

"Oh," Teodor breathed, "_that's_ not going to happen. This way, Milady?"

-oOo-

"It's… lovely," said Kemmi, lacking conviction. She gazed around her excessively white-washed suite, complete with her own private bath, sanitary facilities, and a little sitting area nook with writing desk. It was all quite plain, and remarkably color-free, yet the most _Shin Makoku_ room she'd seen in the mostly dark wooden working-class Skill Hall. "Um…"

Teodor sat on the bed. "It's yours plus, not minus, Kemmi," he explained with an understanding smile. "My room's not much, and just the one bed, narrower than this one. I use the toilets down the hall from me, and the communal baths. They'd be scandalized if I didn't put you up in the best suite in Skill Hall, Milady."

"I'm no one's _Lady,_ Teodor," she murmured.

"Not so," Teodor denied. He patted the bed and raised an eyebrow in invitation for her to join him. Kemmi reluctantly sank beside him. "You know that Trondheim is matriarchal, yes? Women rule? A man usually takes social rank from his Mommi, or his wife, or girlfriend for the season they're together. _But_, I'm an Aristocrat. My rank is a given. Thus, _you_ get a social promotion above _me_. Milady."

"You're making fun of me," Kemmi worried.

"Never," Teodor breathed. "And as for separate rooms – _you_ choose which _you_ want to be in. And which bed. At any time. My home is yours. All of it. Granted all of it is this white suite and a small dark single. I'll show you the way to my room, later."

"Hard to be discreet this way," she said.

"I'm sorry, Kemmi. But there is not a snowball's chance in hell of being discreet, _anywhere_ in Trondheim. Everyone in Skill Hall – and soon thereafter, everyone in Kriegsbad, and then half the people in _Trond_ Hall – will know if we have sex, and if we do not. And they _expect_ us to. _Lots._ But only at your choice, of course. Actually, you're even at choice to have sex with someone _else._"

"And the men don't mind!"

"Of course they mind. I should mind… exceedingly. And my friends would not like you for it. But – ladies' choice. Always."

"I think it very strange that I don't like this suggestion."

"I find it very reassuring," Teodor quipped. He put his arm around her tentatively, asking for permission, and she promptly snuggled in, so he held her firmly. "You get used to it," he repeated.

"How would you know?" she asked. "You grew up with this. I don't imagine you had any real privacy in the army, either."

Teodor laughed. "Touché. But then, I'm speaking to a woman who actually _married_, to a _human,_ in the _Porthic Empire._ It's hard to picture you in veil and coins."

Kemmi giggled. "The coins actually feel kinda sexy, clinking around your ears, and breasts, and hips."

"OK, now I'm really _enjoying_ imagining you this way. Maybe a little too much… Where exactly do the coins go, around the hips?"

"Well, here, and there, and a loop down between there. I'm afraid my nipple piercings may have closed up, though."

"Sh-shall I look for you?"

"Not so fast, buster! Are you really leaving Kriegsbad?"

"Not right away. I should have another year here. The people here have put up with so much strife, for so long. I don't want to rush it, risk them backsliding. They deserve a peace at last to hold onto. Of course, I don't have much to do here now."

"Come to Krist Kringle _lots._"

"Oh, I will! Lots and _lots._"

"But then you go away. I don't suppose they have libraries in Gratz Pass."

"Oh, were you thinking of going with me?" He squeezed her encouragingly. "I think – when it comes to the sort of things I do in my career – you should probably stick to your library. And I hope I'll still be welcome to visit? Even if I must go away on my work, here and there."

"Like taking back the Sea of Sands from Suberia, and restoring the Sea of Grass? Undo the entire Great War, and restore Trondheim to its former size and glory?"

Teodor paused a minute before replying. "I should have known the analyst _K. Guntersglen_ would have no trouble figuring that one out. It's… a definite maybe."

"With or without Shin Makoku's backing?"

Teodor paused longer. "Well, I should be very interested in insights on that from the analyst _K. Guntersglen_, too. Yuuri Maou… isn't a militarily venturesome king. I haven't committed to _any_ of these reckless paths, yet, Kemmi. Friends are agitating, is all. And – I'm not eager to go _'pacify'_ Gratz Pass."

"Is it pretty? Gratz Pass."

Teodor laughed. "Gorgeous rugged scenery. Lots of glaciers. I would see your beautiful eyes glinting back at me everywhere."

"It would be hard to leave my career," she mused. "Books and glaciers and untame convicts don't go well together."

"Whyever would you do that?" They stared at each other. "I _love_ you as a librarian, Kemmi. What – you thought I expected you to drop your career and become a camp follower?"

"You know, Teodor, I think Trond men shall become in high demand with Shin Makojin career women. Perhaps I should snap one up before supply becomes scarce."

"I encourage that line of thought."

"We should bathe, before your dawn services."

"Oh, you don't have to go with me. I'm sure you're exhausted from the trip."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world. And unless you need to maintain ritual purity beforehand, I think it important to my standing in Kriegsbad to jump your bones before dawn. Since _everyone_ will be notified, and all."

Teodor laughed. "Preferably not smelling of goat? Fawn? Satyr?"

"Oh, there _are_ fawns and satyrs in Trondheim now, aren't there? Here in Kriegsbad? Ooh, Teodor. My fidelity is being shaken by my xenophilia. I wonder what -"

She didn't get to finish her musing. Teodor laughed so hard he tumbled them both onto the ugly whitewashed wooden floor. "Kemmi, _you_ are a soldier's _dream!"_

-oOo-

It was a beautiful May evening, after the worrisome slight earthquakes, when a runner from Kriegsbad arrived breathless, to hand-deliver Kemmi a note from Teodor. Kemmi made sure the runner knew where to find respite lodging with the Krist Kringle militia, and sent him on his way.

She'd promised to wear her Porthic coins when she read letters from Teodor – and she did, and he'd been most helpful with getting them all affixed properly during his visit before last – but she only wore one at the library, nestled between her breasts. Wearing any more, it would be hard to focus, _clanking_. Her imagination tended to get out of hand that way anyway these days. Still, it was an hour before the library closed, and Kemmi was ever a slave to her curiosity. She stole into one of the book stacks for a little privacy, and stealthily drew her one coin out of her bosom, and gently flicked her earlobe with it. She opened the note, which was uncharacteristically tiny, and clearly penned in a rush.

_Dearest Kemmi,_

_I've been recalled to Blood Pledge Castle to assume supreme command. Leaving Kriegsbad in minutes. Earthquakes and volcanic eruption at Winvale disastrous. G. von Dienst leaving to search for his family. Death toll expected in the thousands. Wincott, Bielenfeld, parts of Gratz, covered in volcanic ash._

_I'm sorry, we shall miss Gob Mob this year. I promise to take you another time. May be too busy to visit Krist Kringle for a while. But thinking of you always. Rub a coin for me now and then._

_Love, Teodor vT_

Kemmi folded the note thoughtfully and stuck it in her pocket, Porthic coin still drawing along her ear and jawline. She looked at the dusty stacks of books. She looked down at her dull grey _'librarian camo gear'_, as Teodor called it. She tapped her foot in her staid and sensible half-boot.

_Well. That's disappointing._

She tapped her foot in her staid and sensible boot. She traced her lip with her Porthic coin and thoughtfully touched gold with the tip of her tongue. They were very crude coins, fighting birds drawn to Suberian art standards, with a square hole in the middle. Valuable, of course, being pure and heavy gold.

_It would be undignified for a career woman and scholar of my stature to scamper after him like some floozy camp follower._

She tapped her ugly boot and gave her ugly dress an irritable swish. With a glance down the book stacks to make sure no one was watching, her coin took a circuitous route migrating back to lie clutched between her breasts.

"Books!" she shrieked, in overwhelming gratitude at the realization. "The Bielenfeld Institute's _BOOKS!"_

_Objective acquired! Eureka!_

"Out, out everybody! Yes, I'm sorry, the library is closing – it's an emergency!" Krispin Lord Krist would take care of her books for her – he always did. "Yes, there's been a volcanic eruption up north! Ash everywhere! I'm closing the library. I shall assemble a team to _save the Bielenfeld Institute's books!"_ Library patrons scattered, amazed by the ferocious manic gleam in the eye of their mousy-sweet dowdy librarian.

Kemmi didn't pack a single thread of _'librarian camo gear'_. She did bring her huge white horses, a notebook and graphite, and every last one of her Porthic gold coins.

_I don't know where you're going, Teodor von Trondheim. But you're a good man, and one hell of a ride. And I'm going with you!_

-oOo-

The End.

Well, end of _that_ story, anyway. ;)

-oOo-

_Please review? Response (even after a story is complete) fuels more stories… Please?_


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